Destiny, Breaking Down
by Shurpuff
Summary: Ren Ashbell is but one of his many titles. He is the Great Seductress, Half-Spirit, Demon Queen, Boss of the Astral Outcasts, Esteemed Older Brother, Teacher, My Dearest Kamito. But he has always known who he is, and the world shall forever be his playground. A hidden crossover story
1. Chapter 1

_**AN:**_ **My uncle likes spot the crossover; I do too. See if you can spot it. -Shurpuff**

* * *

Once, there came a whisper through the lands: of a boy that claimed to play with the Spirits.

Emissaries were named, and sent to find him. It had been a very long time since the King, and there was woe and joy aplenty to those who found him first. Agents aplenty flew apace with the winds, scattering like dust in the breeze.

The School found him first. The boy's parents were only too glad to be rid of him, a little too quickly, their agent found.

"Where then, is the boy?" the agent asked.

"Into the forest," they said, pointing up the mountain near them. "Take him. He has already said his goodbyes."

Stewing over the parents' cryptic words, the agent followed the unmistakable signs of the boy's passing. There was a Gate here, where none should have been, and from out of it emerged a Host of spirits.

"Wake up, mister," came a voice in the agent's ear. The agent woke, and saw only the boy. The Gate and the Host were nowhere in sight.

"I'm sorry if my friends scared you," said the boy. "They send their apologies." The boy opened his palm, and from out of it grew a flower. He pressed it into the agent's palm. "Now let us leave," the boy said, cheerful. "My friends say many more like you are coming."

()()()

It did not take long for the School to recognize his potential. He was indeed an elementalist, and he already had twenty spirits by his side—spirits which he had no trouble commanding, as if he were their sovereign. It was hard not to see the Demon King behind his mirthful smile.

In a frighteningly short time, he became their most promising operative. Yet they were naturally reluctant to use such a valuable piece on mere assassinations. Spinning behind the curtain, therefore, were a vast number of schemes and plans to engineer the future of the land.

And they would all need the boy, of course.

"But he is a rather corruptive influence," a trainer remarked. Down below, a small forest had grown from carved bedrock. The boy was putting on a show above the canopy, juggling water and fire and stone, to the tentative applause of the other trainees. Even from here, they could hear the boy's joyful laughter.

"The others are practically fodder now," said another, snorting dismissively. "Let them have their moment."

"Are we terminating?" asked another trainer. He looked around, then continued in a whisper. "This will cause friction with the other nations here..."

"The higher ups will come to that decision when it comes," said the second trainer, with a shrug. "But as of now, think of it as a more than considerable possibility. And," he said, smirking. "The others will have to bow to the King soon enough."

Down below, the children started to play.

()()()

There was a great noise outside.

"There's big trouble!" someone yelled.

"Shut up," the boy snapped. He was intent on his drawing.

"The teachers are fighting!" yelled another.

"It's someone with a fire spirit, duh. Now shut up!" cried the boy. Of course he knew, well before the intruder had begun incinerating the adults. His friends had told him.

"Big bro, I brought more colors!" said a girl, who was one of the more agreeable kids down here.

The walls shook. There were children huddled around him now. Only a few, those helping him with the drawing, didn't look apprehensive.

"All done!" cried the boy, jumping to his feet. Below, the drawing of himself wielding sword and shield was finished. "Oi, stop messing with my crown! It's got twenty jewels for a reason!" he told the girl.

"Aww. Big bro deserves more."

"Kamito," said a calm voice from behind. The children watched as a spirit flew on black wings toward the boy.

The boy's demeanor calmed. "Restia," he acknowledged formally.

"She is scattering them like dead leaves, Kamito," said the spirit. "Your trainers are ash blown in the wind."

"Do you think she can be our friend, Restia?" asked the boy.

The spirit placed its hands on the boy's head. "I don't think so. Will you try to spare her, then?"

"Should I?" the boy asked, staring into the spirit's eyes. In response, the spirit touched its forehead to his.

"Milord must follow his own counsel. I am but your humble weapon." The spirit dissolved in a cloud of black feathers, becoming just a simple saber, which the boy tucked behind him.

He shook his head. "Stay here, you lot," he addressed the other kids. "Especially you," he emphasized, pointing to the girl, who'd taken a step forward. "Tsu-cchi shall guard you."

"Aww."

Responding to his command, the very earth around the children shook, erupting into a cage of stones that surrounded them. The gaps were also filled, and thus a smooth wall now separated them from him. The wall made a satisfied grunt that only he could hear.

"I could have protected them..." the sword on his back murmured.

"But I need you, Restia," said the boy.

"... As milord wishes."

()()()

She was a tempest of flame. The stolen spirit, strongest in the house of fire, bathed the chambers in a fierce light.

Her rancor had not faded. She'd expected to find the children but found only old men and minor elementalists. They had all wilted at her gaze.

Then, a small shape walked before her.

She brandished her sword. Issued a challenge.

Power, alien, raw, flooded the chamber in response. The power came from the boy. She braced herself, prepared to fight whatever monstrosity they had bred in these halls.

()()()

The boy cast a small, flickering shadow against the foe's light. When the challenge was called, his friends began to murmur, angered by the foe and its spirit. The enemy would be chopped up into twenty bits for his friends' amusement.

But the boy had no reason to kill this one. He silenced their dissent with a plea. Now with the adults dead, he only had to lead his fellows to Astral Zero, where they could renew their tutelage under Restia. There would be plenty of time to play then. And he was determined that this one capable of commanding such a powerful spirit should join them.

There was no question that it _would_ join, whether it wanted to or not.

And thus, the boy's shadow seemed to grow, dwarfing him completely. Illusory shapes and faces could be seen fleetingly in its amorphous shape.

When the enemy's fire moved, he responded.

In three seconds-

His body encased in an armor of impervious steel,

A shield of ice to block the attack,

Then a blast of wind, to fanning the foe's flames, to an uncontrollable level.

The enemy staggered. He closed the distance, dancing through the gaps in the fire.

The enemy's blade swung, sending a fresh blast of fire. He dodged, feeling the heat through the holes in his helmet. Unfazed, he vaulted over the next swing and spied her dress.

Metal armor covering the legs and the wrists. It felt rotten, learning he could end the battle then and there. He brought out Restia instead, clashing her against the enemy spirit.

"Wouldja like to be my friend?" he asked, as gently as he could, over their locked blades. No reaction from the enemy. He parried the following strikes. The enemy seemed unused to his short form, going wide or missing him entirely, giving him a slight advantage.

He formed a block of ice in his other hand. The shield, half-formed, shattered on first contact. The pieces flew into the enemy's dress, filling her like a pincushion.

She shrieked, disengaging. The ice became water, flowing in small rivulets over the skin under her dress. The slimy sensation became a constricting one, as elemental energy began to seep into the enemy, repressing her fury.

He waited, gauging the reaction. It would be perfect if she were subdued this way—

Uttering an enraged howl, the enemy exploded in a burst of energy. A curtain of water saved him from annihilation, which evaporated in a hissing steam that had him sweating beneath the armor.

Fortuitously, the steam cloaked him; when it dissipated, the enemy swinging where he was, he was nowhere in the enemy's sight.

But he hadn't disappeared entirely. High in the air, suspended on a lightening draft of wind, a gigantic sword edged like a butcher's knife forming in his hand, Kamito grinned.

"Ha!" he shouted, just enough to warn the enemy as he slammed the sword down against hers.

The enemy's weapon shattered under the strain of twenty spirits, who'd combined their considerable strengths to the assault. Their cooperation lasted only until that moment, their forged blade shattering in its turn into many shards.

Just for good measure, he flicked a little bit of lightning into the girl, which combined a numbing shock to her surprise. She fell to the floor, insensate. He landed a second later, cushioned by a sudden growth of grass.

"You're pretty good," he remarked, pointing Restia at her. "But I see you're an adult. Maybe you don't want to play."

The girl looked pretty mad, even in defeat. And, upon second look, kind of pretty. It was a kind of pretty that sent shivers down his spine to settle in his crotch.

Some of his friends began to whisper. Suggestive whispers, presenting feather-light temptations as luscious as fresh fruit. One even had the audacity to reach down and prepare him.

He felt Restia wrestle that friend away. He thanked her through their bond. He would content himself with the lascivious images they planted in his mind; there would be plenty of time to fulfill the favor to the Three who demanded it.

He sighed, putting Restia away. He addressed the fallen girl: "Jerry will take care of you. You're going to have to sit in the corner until you're calm."

Something huge and shadowy moved beneath the girl, unnoticed. At his command, the shadow rose, morphing into a faceless set of black jaws that swallowed the girl whole.

The great lump subsided into the ground. "Thank you Jerry," said Kamito. He knelt and dipped his hand into the formless shadow. He extracted from it a large teardrop-shaped blob, as large as his head. He smiled, then patted its head. Its surface shivered at his touch.

"From now on, you will be our friend. Your name shall be... Ponchi."

He retrieved his friends from Tsu-cchi's protection. "Everyone, this is Ponchi. Be nice to her," he said, fluffing the blob.

"Cute!" chirped the girl, snatching Ponchi from him.

"Don't get too careless with her, she was very powerful," he warned.

It did not take long to create a Gate through which he led their exodus from the School, and they disappeared into the mists of Astral Zero.

()()()

Then had come The Woman. She was the first being that perplexed the boy—now a year older and leader of his own secret group—and who had also dueled him to a draw.

He could have fought more, as some of his friends urged, but Restia pressed caution. It was the first time he'd contemplated ignoring his sword, but her voice won out.

He was understandably displeased to be bound within a magic circle by the woman, the latter correctly deducing his peculiar attunement to Astral Zero. Exposure to that other world had turned him into something partially spiritual, which made it an easy job for even a flimsy circle to contain him. Of course, the woman's craft was anything but flimsy, so it would take a lot of effort to break it.

And so they went to bargaining.

"I don't want to," he said, at the first condition. He drew himself up haughtily. "Only fools cavort and posture for the pleasure of those Spirits."

"Consider your options," the woman said. "I shall keep you here, for an indefinite time, until all energy has been leached from your body. Or I can sell you to a number of groups, who shall take with them the secret of your physiology, who will be glad to control the Demon King reincarnate. Or... well, I can be very creative, child. I have the rest of eternity to _be_ as creative as I want to be."

"But is the Blade Dance not only for pure-hearted 'maidens'? I'm not a girl, and... well, technically I'm not a virgin," he added, thinking of his fumbling experiences with Restia and some of his group. The Three had been satisfied, but with the floodgates opened, he could no longer resist their whispering for more.

"Interesting..." said the woman, her eyes twinkling. Then, just as quickly the geniality disappeared. "It is dreadfully easy to fool even the eyes of the Lords. So long as you aren't fool enough to loudly proclaim your affiliation with Solomon, no one will ever suspect you are anything but the strongest elementalist."

"...You're really determined to have me participate? What's in it for you?" he said, crossing his arms.

"For now, our accord is not at the stage where I can freely divulge _my_ secrets," said the woman, winking. "Don't forget, child, we're bargaining for your freedom." She shrugged. "And, as I mentioned, there is the matter of a wish. A being of your caliber can easily waltz in and snatch that wish from their unwitting hands. Like snatching eggs from a hen's clutch."

It took him another day to give an answer. He spent the time communing with his friends while in the circle. There was dissension aplenty, and Restia had to assert herself and offer her wisdom more than once.

In the interim, the magic circle had been transported from outside the woman's estates to the inside of what looked to be a bedroom. He noted the difference in surroundings, but didn't fully comprehend the woman's intentions until she came to him on the next night for his answer—clad only in a loose-fitting bathrobe that could be blown away by the slightest breeze.

The Three began whispering.

"We have an accord," he said, bracing against their incessant chattering in his mind. "Free me, and I shall lay waste to this petty ritual."

"Not just yet," the woman murmured, abandoning her robe and walking into the circle. "I've a mind to be _creative_."

"...Aren't you an elementalist?" he asked, allowing the woman to peel away his clothes.

She tugged his trousers down. "There are yet more ways we can have fun. It's only a matter of being creative enough."

Growling, he pushed the woman down, pinning her to the cushions. "You know what? I have half a mind to violate you anyway. What's to stop me?"

Her arms came around him, enclosing him as a snake might. She nibbled his ear, a little too forcefully. "Do so, and I shall keep you here forever. Without my powers, how else can I spend the rest of eternity?"

()()()

"In the end, was there ever any doubt?" he murmured to Restia, allowing the accolades to fall on him after achieving the crown of "Strongest". Winner of the Blade Dance, he had taken on the name "Ren Ashbell", entering as an independent: landless, title-less.

As such, he would have to be extraordinarily lucky, or skilled, to win. He could be lucky if he wanted to be, but he called on his own skills. He hadn't even needed to call his friends' help. Only the teachings of the School, and Restia, were enough to eliminate the opposition.

The only friend actively helping him was the one feeding the illusion of his gender. Lily, ever the worrywart, had suggested it, and his group of orphans had risen to the occasion in helping craft a suitable form for him.

The breasts were a little much, to be honest: too restrictive in battle without proper gear (and he had none).

"So what shall your wish be, Kamito?" asked Restia. He'd listened to her suggestion, after she'd explained her role in all the Demon King's incarnations.

"To slay the Lords"-a tall order even for him and his friends. There was only so much he could do, and he was but a child, no matter what kind of Spirit dwelled inside him. Some of his wiser friends had pressed for caution, believing his time had not yet come.

The question gnawed at him, all the way to the place where the Spirits received him in audience. He knelt, hearing their booming voices echo hollowly in his mind. Despite his recent successes, he still felt himself too weak for the task Restia set for him.

"I'm sorry Restia," he thought. "I think I can only manage one."

"How will you do it?" she asked him.

"With just a wish," he said, drawing her and calling his friends to his side.

He took a deep, steadying breath. He rolled the dice, and played without hesitation.

"I wish to duel thee, great Iseria. It humbly ask for the chance to pit my strength against yours."

After a moment, the acceptance.

Then, battle.

Victory.

(Or so it seemed)

()()()

"Kamito, withdraw!" Restia all but shrieked in his mind.

The Other Side was so inviting, so mysterious that he could stare at it for all time and not be any less entranced.

After Iseria's fall, their surroundings had warped. His true intention in only challenging one and not all of them was to see with his own eyes what Restia feared all along.

He'd instantly lost sight in one eye. A friend wreathed his other eye in a sacred blessing, protecting it from destruction, and only just succeeding.

But the Other Side was so enticing. He was aware of standing on a precipice, his foot already taking a step forward.

His mouth foamed. His expression twisted, blood streaming from the empty socket. He heard someone screaming, and someone laughing. It took a moment to realize both were equally coming from his own ragged throat.

"Kamito!" _Kamito! Friend!_ Their cries held him back from the brink.

He became aware of an epiphany, coming unbidden to his mind. An answer to all the questions in his mind, to all the concerns of the world, and beyond. It would only be his, if he took it. And it stood right there, waiting for him beyond the edge of nothingness.

He stretched his hand to grasp it.

Pain surged into him, and he felt himself slip away.

()()()

You were reckless, he was told, by the Woman, his group, and his friends.

It hurt all the more to hear it from Restia. She and his friends had emerged unscathed, and only because the friend who rarely spoke to him except in ticks and tocks had exerted, bending time and space into string-sized bits to transport them to safety.

Even in his more vindictive moods, he'd never lost control. If he treated it all as a game, inevitably one side would lighten up, would give up, and everyone was happy.

To be reduced to quivering, maniacal mess—Kamito steamed and fumed at the indignity. And all the more: Restia was very disappointed, and that was not something he wanted to bear.

The Blade Dance was over, and no one was aware of Iseria's loss, save perhaps the Lords, who'd uncharacteristically not spread the news. He was sure Restia knew a lot more than she was letting on about that fact.

"I've done my part," he told the woman, as he recuperated on her bed. "I have the scars to prove it," he said, lifting his arm to show its charred, repulsive state. He would need more elaborate illusions to cloak it, or perhaps he would't hide it. It would be a nice deterrent to the unworthy.

That it was cursed was no question. But he was determined to prove himself the better of such magics. Even if it killed him.

He told the woman so, refusing her offer of researching an appropriate sealing for the arm.

"It's a good thing there can only be one male elementalist per generation," the woman said, shrugging. "You're all just stupid creatures." She accompanied her words with a gentle shake of the head, no malice in her voice.

Despite what he told the woman, the matter of the Lords and the creeping otherness infesting their domains was now his concern as well. And because it was Restia's problem, he was twice as motivated.

"We'll try again, Restia," he murmured, later that night. "I just need to be stronger. You, me and my friends."

()()()

"Ponchi's been getting friskier lately," Muir remarked one day. She held the aforementioned fussy blob at arms' length.

Kamito took it from her. There were two eyes on its surface, which now appeared to be glaring at him.

"Muir, get everyone out. Get off Astral Zero, for that matter. Gate's that way."

"Why? What's going on, Big Bro?"

"I'm about to let an old foe speak for herself," he said, setting the blob down.

()()()

When the inferno'd settled, this part of Astral Zero had been reduced to ash.

"Like I said before," he said, surveying the damage. "You're pretty strong, lady. What's your name?" He swallowed painfully when he caught sight of the woman's near-naked form, as most of her armor having been stripped during the battle. The Three were unhelpful, as always.

"Rubia... Elstein..." came the girl's voice, which seemed like it hadn't been used for a long time.

He sheathed Restia. "Let us discuss your intentions then. Perhaps, if we can agree to a goal, we can work together. My group's been dreadfully aimless since I won the Blade Dance. And then, if it is amenable to you, we can sleep together in an elementalist-friendly fashion. No pressure, though."

()()()

For three years, Ren Ashbell disappeared from public view. Yet her legend persisted, waxing and waning as the moon, and as contrary with each other as light and dark.

Was she a benevolent warrior, travelling the world and undoing its wrongs? Or was she an amoral mercenary, doing the selfish bidding of the land's rulers?

Was she a wise and kind teacher, who took the time to visit promising elementalists, to teach them, encourage them? Or was she a wanton homophile, slithering her way into the hearts of pure maidens, her lessons seductive and forbidden?

Was she a secret member of the Numbers, or was she merely an acquaintance of its former general?

Had she really lifted the infamous siege at Fort Calmus, or was she really the mastermind behind the monstrosity that claimed a score of lives?

None could get a definite picture of the infamous legend. She left only a fleeting presence in the minds of many.

Three years later, another Blade Dance was announced.

()()()

Older, scarred, radiant, amiable, majestic, formidable.

The murmurs and the eyes followed her as he went up on the platform, each step measured. He nodded to the other instructors, shook Grayworth's hand, then went up to the center to face the multitude of elementalists enrolled in Areshia.

He began the needless show, to prove he was who he should be. He drew Restia, twirling her two times, before planting her point down onto the platform. He laid both hands on her hilt, and offered a smile to the students below.

"Presenting: your newest instructor, the previous winner of the Blade Dance, Ren Ashbell."

* * *

 **AN: Drafted by Shurpuff, proofread and edited by Honore (Merlin)**

 **Thanks for reading.**


	2. Chapter 2

The Gate opened. Ellis Fahrengart and her fellows, even after being briefed, scarcely believed it. How someone, even a Blade Dance winner, could accomplish the heretofore impossible feat boggled their minds.

Still, the Sylphid Knights were trained well. They fell into formation, arrayed in two rows, each standing stock-still and masking their emotions as knights should.

As Captain, Ellis alone stood a few feet before the Gate. A person presently stepped out of it, not unlike a lady of esteemed personage alighting from a carriage.

Ellis saluted, as did the other Knights. She could barely restrain her trembling; her heart pounding fiercely from excitement. There stood her greatest idol just a few feet away, and she was every bit as impressive as the images her mind conjured.

Ren Ashbell, three years since her great victory, had changed much. She was just a bit taller than Ellis, slightly thicker in frame—though still retaining the fierce slenderness from before—and had a mannish face, thin-lipped, the cheekbones distinct. She wore a military coat, white with golden trimmings, with black trousers. She wore mismatched gloves, white on the right, black on the left. Gone was her waist-length hair, now it was cut sharply at her nape, a small tuft falling to cover her left eye. Ellis had heard the descriptions that the eye had been lost, replaced by a "shoddily-made" glass eye.

A smile lit up Ashbell's expression. She stepped forward, the Gate closing behind her, and grasped Ellis' hand in her own. Silently, Ellis was thankful for wearing gloves. Her palm had gotten damp from all the anxiety.

"We welcome you to Areshia Academy, Lord Ashbell," Ellis said. Her fellows murmured in chorus.

Ashbell snorted. "Please. You may dispense with 'Lord'. I suspect your blood is bluer than mine, young miss." Her voice was deep, hoarse. It brought to mind a veteran soldier: scarred and gruff.

"As you wish... Teacher."

"Ah, yes. More appropriate." She felt her hand being squeezed. Ellis swallowed, recalling all the stories going around, of Ashbell preying on innocent noblewomen who didn't know better. They never really told her what "preying" meant. She could feel the eyes of her fellows on her back.

Thankfully, Ashbell released her hand, gesturing for her to go. Her manner and movements were crisp and to-the-point, lining up exactly with her image of a soldier. Ellis couldn't stop her eyes from traveling up and over the other woman: memorizing every detail to prepare for the inevitable mob of people arriving later to interrogate her.

"Quite a lovely little school you have here," said Ashbell, looking around. "I trust the security is impeccable?"

"The best," answered Ellis, glowing with pleasure. "Aside from the tireless efforts of we, the Sylphid Knights, there are numerous trap sigils and guardian spirits deployed all around the campus. It will take a determined military invasion to surpass us, though if it really came to that our students will have long been evacuated."

"Very good. And, will you be participating in this year's Blade Dance?" Ashbell asked abruptly. Ellis took a few seconds to answer, thinking of the many ways to respond. Should she be humble, proud, relaxed...?

She decided on confident. "Yes, Teacher. I shall aim to win for the glory of my house."

Something cold flashed in Ashbell's eye. The sudden sensation froze Ellis in her tracks. She caught something ironic in Ashbell's smirk before it disappeared. The other woman laid a hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly.

"Good. Very good. It's always fascinating to see avid enthusiasm in a noblewoman. I'm sure it will please your future man."

For a quick, disbelieving moment, Ellis felt her stomach descend to unreachable depths. She didn't know why, but Ashbell's words stung, despite not suggesting anything at all. It felt like the woman had been disappointed by her answer, and had therefore chosen to dismiss her entirely.

Outrage was quickly suppressed by self-deprecating shame—all her lofty daydreams of impressing Ren Ashbell were dashed into the winds. She felt robbed of all speech. A cold feeling settled in her insides.

"I can find my way from here, good knight," Ashbell said, once they were inside the entrance hall. "You and your... entourage may return to your other duties." She bowed—no curtsying from the legendary Blade Dancer—and turned crisply to leave.

"Understood... teacher," she said faintly, watching the woman stride away without looking back. She sank to the floor, ignoring the babbling of her fellow knights around her, her heart soundly crushed by the sound dismissal.

()()()

Ignoring all decorum, she ran through the halls. She'd spied her arrival from the roof gardens, having chosen that very place to watch for Ren Ashbell's arrival. When she was sure, she grabbed Scarlet and began to make her way down to intercept the woman.

There weren't a lot of people in the halls at this time; term had not yet started. Those who remained were those with faraway estates, students committed to the Sylphid Knights or those who required additional credits.

She found Ashbell in front of the headmistress's office, getting ready to enter.

"Wait!" she cried, skidding to a stop before the woman. She knew it wasn't how a lady should act, knew very well that the rest of the Academy would laugh at her for being this brazen—but she couldn't afford those second thoughts now. She _needed_ this.

Her face burned from embarrassment, from all the running, from realizing that this should not be the way one talks to the so-called greatest Blade Dancer: out of breath, sweating, near speechless from exertion.

"R-Ren Ashbell," she began, addressing her in what she thought would be an appropriate way befitting her status. "I—I am Claire Rouge. Like you, I plan to win the Blade Dance, on my own merit. Thus, I would request something from you. Teach me—teach me how to be stronger." Bravely, she held the other woman's gaze, which had so far remained expressionless since she'd hailed her.

"Miss Rouge," she said, after a long silence. Her voice had all the authority of a king, and more besides. Claire instantly stood to attention. "You do not lack for audacity—and cunning besides—by accosting me this way. You are certainly braver than most elementalists I've met."

Claire's face flushed deeper from the praise.

"However." The word hit her like a slap to the face. "I assume you have been long taught the right protocol for a lady asking a request from another. Invitation, interview, proposal, bargaining, then acceptance of the deal and proper gratitude. You skipped over a dozen steps, Miss Rouge. What convinced you I would not expect any less?"

"But you—" Claire stammered.

"We shall talk again, if you wish, Claire Elstein. Only, on that time, be _proper_."

"But you're Ren Ashbell!" she couldn't help blurting out. "You're the definition of breaking the protocol!"

Ashbell's gaze narrowed to slits. "You're mistaken. There are as much steps in the act of managing your Spirits as the act of begging an audience from the Emperor for a boon. One slight misstep—skip a step entirely—and your head will be convinced to part from the rest. I do not say this lightly, young lady. If you cannot show respect for the order of things, then I dare say I can no longer respect your desire to be 'stronger'. It smacks of machismo, which is unbecoming of an elementalist."

It took a few moments of her gaping at the closed door before Claire realized Ren Ashbell had called her by her true last name.

That did not make the rejection sting less.

()()()

Rinslet Laurenfrost shared in the wonder of the entire student body. There up on the platform stood: queen, knight, prince combined majestically into one. The shock she shared with the others turned into a surging joy—it was almost as if Great Aleshia had descended into their midst.

She joined in the enthusiastic applause.

Ren Ashbell began a speech. Despite the great distance, her voice carried loud and clear. There was a trick there, though Rinslet couldn't see it.

"... To that end, and thoroughly endorsed by this Academy and the Empire, in the interest of full disclosure I hereby announce that I have been authorized to train one team for the coming Blade Dance. The composition of this team shall be decided by myself, and by the will of the Empire it shall not be negotiable by the candidates."

The murmurs around her were unmistakable. The Lady Ashbell, sponsoring a team for the Blade Dance?

A great wind arose, drawing cries, lifting up skirts and ruffling hair. They all saw two students carried high up into the air by unseen hands.

Rinslet recognized both but only knew one intimately: the two were her friend Claire Rouge and that Sylphid Knight, Ellis Fahrengart. She watched the two fly towards the platform, where they were then deposited on earthen pedestals that Ashbell conjured.

"Right from the start, two candidates proved themselves to me. This," Ashbell hesitated, finger pointed at Claire, then swiveled to point at Ellis. "...And that one. They have shown me their convictions, and I have deemed them worthy _candidates._ I am still on the lookout for more, and it shall be some time before the team roster is finalized."

The murmurs grew louder. _That_ Claire, a candidate? Why was Ellis chosen, and not her sister?

Rinslet kept her eyes on the platform. She couldn't hear them speak, but the expressions on both candidates were clear to see. Quite out of character for both, Claire looked highly displeased, stomping her feet and generally looking agitated; while Ellis was bowing repeatedly, looked ready to lick Ashbell's boots.

Rinslet stroked her hair absently. She, like almost every other girl here, contemplated Ashbell's announcement with more than token interest. There would be a lot of letters written here before the sun went down.

"...Screening process starts _today_ , so please be ready with a demonstration of your skills," Ren Ashbell concluded. The woman saluted. Purple light surrounded her, and after Rinslet blinked, she had gone.

()()()

"There now, that wasn't too bad," said Restia. "But it would still have been better to admit to those girls you'd gotten a stick up your ass-and apologized properly. And you didn't even remember their names."

"I was _busy,_ Restia. Mind preoccupied." Kamito shook his head. "Besides, it ain't like I did them a favor. They've still got to prove themselves. What's wrong? Why are you laughing?" Restia had chuckled.

"Oh, nothing. I had a look at those candidates, and I have a feeling they won't disappoint."

"You seem so sure."

"No one's worthier than you, milord. But those girls might give your little group a run for their money."

Kamito paused before stepping into the Gate. "Seriously? Even with the Artificials?"

"Not even Muir with her pet monster."

"Someone mention my name?" The girl in question poked her head through the Gate. "Ooh, you're looking good, Big Bro. Very stylish!"

Kamito stared at her for a full three seconds before saying, "Restia claims these girls from the sponsor team can beat you."

Something menacing gleamed in the girl's eyes. "I, of course, respectfully disagree, milady Restia."

He recognized that look. He shook his head. "Stick to the plan, Muir. I want to hear of no diversions."

"Of course, Big Bro," the girl replied, simpering. "I would never disappoint you." Saying that, she stepped beyond the Gate, exiting Astral Zero just as he was entering.

"I ain't kidding, Muir," he said, holding the Gate open just enough. "No pranks, you hear?"

"Perfectly."

* * *

 **AN: Drafted by Shurpuff.**

 **Thanks for reading!**


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